


You Know Doors Lock For a Reason, Right?

by candlesneedflame



Series: The Teenage Vigilante's Guide [11]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Comedy, Crack, Gen, Humor, M/M, Sexual Content, Strap in for a little second hand embarrassment, There is sexual content, What's a little crucifixion amongst friends?, but it isn't explicit hence the mature tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlesneedflame/pseuds/candlesneedflame
Summary: Five times Peter walked in on Matt and Wade in questionable situations, and one time they walked in on him.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock/Wade Wilson, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: The Teenage Vigilante's Guide [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1361608
Comments: 22
Kudos: 612





	You Know Doors Lock For a Reason, Right?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boompowkablam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boompowkablam/gifts).



> I had a ton of fun writing this! No beta, but I read it until my eyes hurt, so I think it's good to go!
> 
> Boompowkablam, I hope this is everything you wanted and more! 
> 
> This takes point at an indeterminate future time in TVG, aka after the end of Unfortunate Misconceptions (which isn't yet finished. Sorry about that!)

**1.**

When Peter received a text from Matt earlier in the day with the blurb only showing the words ‘ _ Peter, this is urgent _ ’, he’d expected a matter of life and death. Aliens raining from the sky, earthquakes shaking the city, weird giant space blobs devouring everything in their path—okay, granted that last one happened in bumfuck Missouri and not New York, but still! It was a possibility. When he opened the text and read it in full, he was both massively relieved that it was nothing so life threatening but also slightly disappointed that it was so dull.

_ 11:09AM _

_ Matt: _ Peter, this is urgent. I need you to bring me cat food. I can’t get it because according to Foggy my face is literally one massive bruise after last night and I don’t want to get social services called on me again. I’ll probably be sleeping off this concussion, so I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.

It’s a bit weird, but hey, Matt’s taken literal, actual bullets for Peter. Well, one bullet, a whole lot of beatings, and at least two stabbings. If that doesn’t warrant personal cat food delivery services on occasion from Peter than nothing ever will. Plus, he never, ever turns down an opportunity to see Spatula. Matt’s cat is truly a gift from above, a very unfitting pet for the Devil logically speaking. She loves to be held and carried and to sit on anyone who’s still for more than two seconds. Her loud purring is the perfect thing to nap to, and Peter has done just that many times on Matt’s couch.

Every time he falls asleep at Matt’s apartment, without fail, he wakes up with a cat on his chest and a blanket over both of them—another thing that makes Spatula perfect: she likes to curl up underneath blankets.

There are few things more precious than walking past a boring old blanket lump and having a paw stick out from under it to grab you. Peter’s only concern would be that someone wouldn’t see the cat under the blankets and would wind up crushing her on accident, but that’s not really at all likely considering Matt can always tell where she is, no matter how well hidden from sighted people she may be.

Anyway, he gets to see Spatula, which is great,  _ and  _ he gets to see Matt, which is also great. Even if Matt’s probably so beat to shit that just looking at him is going to be painful. As sad as it is, Peter’s gotten used to it. Quite honestly, Peter doubt that there’s ever been a moment in the entire time he’s known Matt where the guy wasn’t injured in some way or another, from cracked ribs to minor bruises. He has to push that less-than-pleasant thought aside, because right now he needs to bring Matt cat food.

To buy it at the pet store down the block and lug it around with him on the subway, or to wait to buy it once he gets into Manhattan—tis the question. After a moment of internal debate, Peter ends up on the side of buy it now, carry it around, because the guy that owns the pet store is really nice, and whenever Peter goes there to buy food for his own cat the guy gives him whatever samples the supply company has sent him.

Before he heads out, he grabs one of May’s reusable shopping bags that she keeps hanging on a hook by the door. A quick glance shows that it’s one emblazoned with a Stark Industries logo. Peter wonders if it’s a newer thing—possibly something Tony hid there one of the many times he’s dropped by, or if it’s from when he was completely obsessed with SI as a kid. Either way, it makes him smile just a bit as he walks out the door.

All in all, the voyage to Matt’s apartment—or is it a journey? Maybe a quest?—is rather uneventful. It’s uneventful from his apartment to the pet store. From the pet store to the subway station, the most interesting thing that Peter sees is a pigeon with more purple iridescence than usual. The subway is, well, it’s the subway. It’s stuffy, there are too many people, it smells weird, someone is passed out, and there’s the ever-present unidentifiable wet seat, just like there is in every car of every frickin’ train in all of the city. It’s like a cardinal rule of underground transportation: the mystery wet spot. The fact that Peter is fixating so much on this completely banal thing is testament in itself to just how dull the experience is. From the subway station to Matt’s apartment, a group of tourists ask him to take a picture of them, and Peter agrees. He always wonders why it is that people pick him out to take their pictures. MJ says it’s because he’s adorable and he doesn’t look like he’ll steal their phone and pawn it for drug money. The whole experience is completely, totally uneventful.

Arriving at Matt’s apartment is anything but.

By the time Peter gets to the second floor, he can hear vague arguing. By the time he gets to the third floor it’s yelling. By the time he’s walking down the hallway to Matt’s door, it’s a full on knock out, smack down screaming match. Matt did say he’d leave the door unlocked though.

Peter hesitates for just a moment before opening the door and being greeted by a sight that he can’t even begin to comprehend.

Matt has managed to climb up into the lattice-like, angled crossbeams supporting the ceiling of his apartment. He has one arm woven through the wooden slats so that he can hold on, and the other one is holding a terrifying looking long-range rifle—actually, it’s a lot like the one that Peter saw Sergeant Barnes cleaning and talking to one time.

Anyway, below Matt holding the rifle in his rafters, Wade is standing on his kitchen counter and trying to reach him.

“MATTHEW MURDOCK I SWEAR TO FUCK YOU BETTER GIVE ME THAT GUN!” Wade yells, failing at reaching Matt.

“NO, YOU’RE JUST GONNA FUCK THINGS UP WORSE! CAN’T YOU FUCKING LISTEN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT’LL HAPPEN IF YOU KILL HIM?!” Matt yells back, holding the rifle further out of reach.

“I DON’T KNOW— HE’LL BE DEAD?!!” Wade shouts, reaching and failing yet again.

“MIKE  _ FUCKING _ PENCE WILL BE IN CHARGE OF THE ENTIRE FUCKING COUNTRY, YOU STUPID FUCKING CANADIAN!” Matt shrieks. “HE WANTS TO ELECTROCUTE GAY PEOPLE!”

“SO?!”

Uh, Peter thought that might be of more concern to Wade.

“WE’RE GAY PEOPLE, WADE!”

There we go. Couldn’t have said it better himself.

“THEN I’LL KILL HIM TOO! YOU FUCKING AMERICANS! WHY THE FUCK DID I EVEN COME HERE?! WEED’S LEGAL WHERE I’M FROM, AND MY PRIME MINISTER ISN’T A FUCKING BATSHIT CRAZY RACIST HOMOPHOBE!”

“HE STILL DID BLACKFACE, DIDN’T HE?!”

There’s the tiniest break in the yelling, and Peter  _ immediately  _ speaks up because he wants to get as far away from discussions of high treason as soon as possible, please and thank you. Being arrested for plotting a presidential assassination isn’t going to look good on college applications.

“Um—I brought your cat food,” he says a little loudly and a little shrilly, causing both men to jolt rather harshly. Guess he can sneak up on Matt, if he’s distracted and there are enough loud noises going on.

“Thanks Peter,” Matt says in his scary-sweet tone, even though his voice is still hoarse from screaming at Wade. “You can set it on the counter.”

Peter nods and walks over to the counter silently, setting the cat food just next to where Wade is standing and glaring at Matt.

They’re stuck there in a triangle of awkward silence until Matt, out of nowhere, yells “FUCK!” and flings himself off of the crossbeam, simultaneously throwing Wade’s rifle across the room and eliciting a horrified gasp from its owner. Matt lands on the couch with a loud thump, and the rifle clatters to the floor but before Wade can get in another screaming match with Matt, this one about throwing his gun, or as he’s sure Wade would call it, his baby, there’s a loud knock at the door.

“ _ NYPD, open up!” _

They all freeze, except for Matt who’s already frozen.

__

“Peter, go out the other door,” Wade orders in the voice Peter knows better than to argue with.

“Got it.” Peter nods and books it up the stairs. As the rooftop door shuts behind him, he could almost swear he hears the words ‘violent domestic incident’.

Three hours later, his phone starts pinging.

_ 4:15PM _

_ Wade: _ I got fucking arrested for domestic abuse

_ Matt: _ and now everyone at the 15th precinct thinks I have an abusive boyfriend that I bail out when he beats the shit out of me. Thanks for that Wade. My reputation is ruined.

_ Wade: _ what reputation?

_ Matt: _ fuck you

_ Wade: _ fuck you back

_ Jessica: _ you two are a fucking mess. 

* * *

**2.**

Usually Peter can make it home after his team-ups with Matt and Wade, but last night he ended up with a concussion. It was mild enough that, with his abilities, it would be better by morning, but severe enough that swinging back to Queens wouldn’t be a good idea. Despite his protests about not wanting to intrude, Matt insisted that he just stay at his place and take over his bed for the night since, for once, Matt ended the night uninjured. It was clear that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and it was a Saturday after all, so Peter gave in. 

He sort of regrets that immediately upon comprehending the scene that awaits him outside Matt’s bedroom the next morning.

"You're putting on," Matt snarls, "the fucking tie."

"I'm really not," Wade says.

Matt is standing there, dressed in one of his nice black suits with a matching tie and very minor damage to his face (a week old split lip and a small bruise on his temple). He's holding another tie that's currently wrapped around Wade's neck– more in a garrote way than a wearing way.

Wade is dressed nicer than Peter's ever seen him before. He's got on nice shoes, khakis, and a light pink button up shirt that manages to make his scarred up skin look less red. Props to him if that's on purpose. The tie that Matt has around his neck is a dark red that somehow matches pretty well– God knows how he managed that one.

"Wade," Matt says, using the full force of his disappointed voice. "You said you'd go to church with me."

Peter's been on the wrong side of that voice a couple times when he's done something reckless on patrol, even if he was reckless to save Matt’s ass, and it's never fun.

"And I didn't say I'd wear a tie," Wade counters. It doesn't seem like the tie is actually choking him, more that he's just humoring Matt by standing there and being subjected to all of this.

"Don't you want to look nice when you meet my mom?" Matt asks, which– hold up. Isn't he an orphan?

Wade chokes, not from the tie but from what Matt just said. "What?! Your mom is going to be there?!"

"Of course she's going to be there," Matt replies matter-of-factly. "She's a nun, remember?"

"You want  _ me _ to meet your  _ mom _ , the  _ nun _ ?"

"Yeah,” Matt says like it’s the simplest answer in the world. “Why wouldn't I?"

Because he’s a hitman and he looks like  _ that _ would be Peter’s reasoning, but apparently that hasn’t crossed Matt’s mind. Either that or he doesn’t think his mother who is a nun will mind. And how exactly does a nun have a child? And that child end up being a Satan-themed superhero?

Wade looks over Matt’s head to give Peter a 'what the fuck?' look that he's come to know very well since meeting Wade.

Peter gives him a big smile and two thumbs up, because that’s actually kind of sweet. Well, it’s as sweet as it can be when Matt’s trying to choke Wade with a tie.

“… Fine. I’ll wear the tie,” Wade says, and Matt smiles at him in his manipulative little way he has on occasion.

He drops both ends of the tie, leaving it hanging around Wade’s neck and heads into the kitchen.

“Great,” Matt replies. “Do you know how to tie it?”

“I wasn’t raised in a barn, Matt,” Wade replies as he fucks up tying the tie for a second time.

“Uh huh, sure,” Matt says from his position in front of the coffee maker. “Good morning, Peter. Do you want to come to church with us?”

“Uh, I’m not really Catholic, so no. But thanks for the offer,” Peter declines politely. “May’s probably worried about me like always, so I’m gonna head out. Have fun at church—and good luck with his mom?” Peter adds, directing the last bit at Wade.

Meeting the parents is like a relationship milestone, right? Well, Peter’s pretty sure that the relationship status is still ‘it’s complicated’, but whatever works for them, right? Matt’s dad is definitely dead, and God only knows what the deal with Wade’s parental situation is. Judging off his personality it’s not good, so this might just be the only shot at a meeting the parents thing.

“Alright, tell her we said hi,” Matt says as he makes his way back over to Wade to help him with the tie.

“I will,” Peter says before pulling the mask and gloves back on and heading out the rooftop door.

* * *

**3.**

If Wade's going to be honest with himself, this probably isn't the best idea he's ever had. It's nowhere near the worst, but still. Even if he can't die he can still feel pain from any grievous bodily harm that may be inflicted upon him. So why in the hell did he agree to this?

He must be a masochist.

He comes to this conclusion right around the time he's dusting off some old throwing knives and setting them on his coffee table. 

Why did we volunteer our place for this again?

**Because Matt did that thing with his tongue that makes your brain even more useless than usual.**

Ah, that's right. The tongue thing. How could he possibly have forgotten that?

**Because it makes your brain stop working.**

That must be it.

“You alright?” Matt asks, picking up one of the knives from the table and balancing it on his finger. He raises one eyebrow at Wade in that way that sort of makes him want to punch him, sort of makes his heart melt through his ribcage and into a puddle of bodily fluids on the floor.

“Fine-- I’m fine,” he says, waving Matt off both verbally and literally.

“You know we don’t have to do this, right?” And Jesus, isn’t Redthew in a thoughtful mood today? Asking all these questions. 

“No, we’re doing it. Someday you might have to use something other than your damn sticks, and I don’t want to have to babysit your sorry ass when you get emo if you accidentally kill someone by throwing sharp things,” Wade says with a sigh, standing up and walking over to the wall separating the bedroom from the living room.    
  


The things he does for lo-- oh  _ fuck _ that thought. No ‘l’ words here at fucking all. That ship sailed with the fucking cream cheese spreader.

“So I just… throw it?” Matt asks, holding the knife up almost like he’s inspecting it.

“Yeah, it’s called a throwing knife, isn’t it?” he responds, backing all the way up to the wall and holding his arms out slightly from his sides.

“You’re a dick,” Matt snorts, tossing the knife between his hands.

Wade hopes that means he’s familiar enough with the knives already that this will be over soon.

“Yeah, we established that upon first contact. Remember all the sexual harassment?” Wade shoots back. For the love of God, can he please just throw the knife?

“How could I forget?” Matt says, smiling as he moves his arm back and throws the knife.

It hits Wade alright, handle first, in the middle of his forehead.

The knife clatters to the ground and Wade stares at it. 

“Okay, when throwing sharp things, what we  _ don’t _ want to do is hit people in the head because, let me be clear on this, that  _ will _ kill them. By we I mean you, obviously. Because you’re a pussy,” Wade explains. Can’t Matt wipe that irritating fucking smirk off his face? He didn’t even get the pointy end in which-- oh. Did he do that on purpose? Oh he totally did.

**Dick.**

Indeed.

“Sorry,” Matt says without managing to sound even the slightest bit sorry. “I’ll do better next time.”

Six knives later, and Wade is really regretting making the assumption that Matt didn’t know how to throw knives. Had he been ableist in his offer to help? Is that why he’s doing this? Honestly, Wade doesn’t put it past himself to say something offensive or make an offensive assumption without realizing. He tries to be good about that sort of thing, but everyone makes mistakes.

Everyone’s mistakes don’t usually end with them crucified to their own living room wall. 

He’s got a knife through each palm and one through each ankle; he’s not suspended so going through his feet and into the wall isn’t an option. There’s sharp sound as another knife goes flying towards him and imbeds in the wall just to the left of his head. At least Matt is being kind enough to construct the crown of thorns around his head and not in it. That would be even less pleasant.

Just when Wade’s finally about to cave and apologize for what he’s sure of by now had to be an ableist comment, there’s a loud thump against his front door followed by a slight metallic creaking and then the door slamming open to dump a pile of adorably ill-timed teenager onto his floor.

Matt seems woefully unsurprised and lands his last knife in the crown of thorns before turning to Peter who has stood up and slammed the door shut once again. Asshole probably heard him coming a block away and just didn’t bother mentioning it because he  _ adores _ knowing more than everyone else.

**Dick.**

Already agreed on that one.

Rather than offering an explanation or an apology for why he just broke Wade’s front door, Peter looks on at the scene in horror. Which, honestly, fair. Takes in the knives in the wall around Wade, through Wade, in front of Wade, and in Matt’s hand. There’s blood all over, it looks like fucking medieval torture, but all the kid says is,

“Oh my God-- is this a sex thing?  _ Please _ tell me I didn’t just walk in on a sex thing. That would be so embarrassing.”

What  _ the _ fuck. What kind of freak does the kid think he is? There’s nothing remotely sexy about-- okay, yeah,  _ maybe _ he’s been looking a little too closely at how Matt handles the knives before he throws them. But he has nice hands!

“He is  _ crucifying _ me with  _ knives _ \-- how in the fuck could that possibly be a sex thing?!” he settles on saying, because that seems like a reasonable thing to say.

Peter just gives him a look.

Damn kid. That’s Red’s look he’s using. And he’s using it  _ well _ .

“He is  _ crucifying _ me with  _ knives _ while  _ fully clothed _ ,” Wade amends. “How could that possibly be a sex thing?!”

“You didn’t walk in on a sex thing,” Matt assures, and Peter seems to believe him for some fucking reason.

He’s gonna be in for a surprise some day. Baby boy should probably get learnin’ that Matt’s the sneakiest out of all of them. He’s a shit liar face to face, sure. But he can talk around you so fast you’ll never get to ask a question he needs to lie to answer. Red’s pretty scary with the mind games. And yet Wade’s inexplicably a little relieved that Spidey doesn’t know that.

“But if you don’t mind my asking,” Matt continues twirling one of the knives in a scary, sexy way. “Why are you here?”

Matt flings the knife and it imbeds itself in the wall just a hair south of something Wade would really prefer not to have to grow back. He must’ve been able to smell the sexy thoughts.

“Right, well, it was a total accident,” the kid assures immediately. 

_ That’s never a precursor to anything good. _

“Uh huh,” Matt says. 

“But I might’ve punched a mob enforcer in the face. Inside a business owned by the mob. On accident.”

_ Told you. _

Yes you fucking did.

Only this fucking kid, he swears.

* * *

**4.**

Peter’s having some suit issues—he noticed this about half an hour ago while doing his Spider-Manly duties. It seems as though a seam has become loose, and he wants to get that fixed up before it becomes a big problem. Last thing he needs is the suit completely unraveling around him during a fight like something out of a cartoon. He doesn’t really want to bother Melvin with something this small, and it’s actually a seam where he and Wade altered the suit, so it makes sense to go to Wade to get it fixed, right? He even texted to ask when would be a good time to come over. The answer he’d gotten had been ‘any time before 8 tonight’ along with ‘I’ll leave the window open for u’. Which is why he finds himself outside Wade's open window before eight o’clock. Peter's just about to enter when he hears a voice that doesn’t belong to Wade.

"Seriously, Wade, this would never work. On anyone. Why do you even own it?" comes Matt's voice from somewhere out of sight.

"I've told you before, Red. I'm an optimist."

"No. You're throwing it away. You're never going to use it. Lord knows if you came anywhere near me with that I'd beat you to death with it."

"Ugh fine," there's a loud sigh. "How about these?"

There's a sort of jangling noise and a bit of silence.

"Do they work?"

"Do you want to find out?"

"What I want to do is finish helping you organize this shit so that you'll help me with the gang war that's going to start tonight if I don’t stop that arms shipment," comes Matt's response. "So do they work?"

"God you're so boring. No sense of romance. And no, I lost the key," Wade laments.

“Then throw them away,” Matt says sweetly.

  
  


Wade sighs loudly, and Peter hears footsteps approaching the living room from the bedroom.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ!" Wade practically screams when he sees his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man sitting outside his half open window, jumping about a foot in the air and dropping what he'd been holding.

Which, much to Peter's horror, is a comically large dildo and a pair of fuzzy hand cuffs that attach to... a collar? Nope, nope, he  _ so _ does not want to know what that is. Eyes immediately back up to Wade's face. That is so not any of his business. That is the furthest thing possible from his business.

"What?" Matt calls from wherever he is in the apartment.

"Why didn't you tell me the kid was outside my fucking window?!" Wade hisses, glaring in the direction he came from.

"Because I assumed you knew."

"Why would I know that?!"

"Because you told me he was going to be coming by today and you left the window open. I assumed you knew," Matt says, walking into the room as well, and holding a cardboard box with what appears to be a large number of leather straps and buckles that Peter also so does not want to know what they are. "Don't be a dick, Wade. Invite him in."

"He's not a vampire," Wade says, even as he comes over to the window and pulls it open all the way. "Come in, kid. Don't just stand there."

"I'm really not sure if I want to do that," Peter says, glancing back to the… items that Wade dropped.

"My apartment has been a den of iniquity every time you've ever been in it," Wade says. "The only difference is that you know now. Now come in and strip down so I can fix your damn suit.”

Peter sighs and slinks in through the window, walking out of sight of it to pull off the mask and gloves before unzipping the suit. Now that the weather is getting colder again, he’s started wearing leggings beneath the suit, so he doesn’t hesitate to shuck off the suit and toss it onto the bare coffee table.

When Wade comes back with his sewing machine, he snorts. “ _ Nice _ .”

Peter glances down and realizes that the leggings he pulled on earlier just happen to be the ones with little Daredevils all over them.

“I have some with you on them too. And me. Ned and MJ think it’s funny to buy me every superhero’s merchandise they can find,” he explains.

“You get any money from the ones with you on ‘em?” Wade asks as he sets down the sewing machine and starts fiddling around with it. Peter knows that Wade told him what the various bits were called, but he certainly doesn’t remember them.

“Nah. Mr. Stark talked to me about licensing Spider-Man merchandise through the company that does the Avengers, but I don’t really want to copyright myself. I’m not really about that corporate life, so anyone can make and sell Spider-Man stuff,” Peter says. It seemed like a big complicated thing, and considering that Mr. Stark said he’d have to reveal his identity to people who would then sign non-disclosure agreements just felt off.

“Stop talking and start sewing,” Matt calls from Wade’s bedroom. “I need you to help me with this shit.”

“You’re a big kid, I’m sure you can manage on your own for a few minutes,” Wade replies at the same volume he’d just been speaking to Peter with. “Just don’t throw away the purple one.”

There’s a loud thump as something flies out of the bedroom and smacks into the wall.

Much to Peter’s horror  _ again _ , it’s another dildo—a blue one. At least it isn’t two feet long like the first one.

Matt follows it out a moment later with yet another dildo and various other phallic objects in a cardboard box. Peter can’t quite tell if they’re all technically dildos or not, and he sure as fuck isn’t about to ask. He’s doing his best to pretend he isn’t there. In fact, he’d have jumped out the window if Wade didn’t currently have his suit under the foot of the sewing machine—there, that’s one term that he remembers.

“The purple one? The  _ purple _ one?” he says, gesturing at Wade with one of the dildos from the box. “Are you fucking stupid?” He throws the dildo on the floor, then reaches into the box and pulls out another one. “I haven’t seen purple since I was nine fucking years old, Wade. I don’t even remember what purple looks like!” He throws this one too, directly at Wade’s head.

It hits him, but Wade just sighs as he seems to have accepted his fate for his poor choice of words.

Matt drops the box on the floor and turns to walk back into Wade’s room, muttering, “Purple? You’re such a fucking moron.”

“I regret coming here,” Peter announces loudly from his place on the couch beside Wade.

“Me too!” Matt calls back.

* * *

**5.**

With one final tug, Matt pulls the cord of his baton tight around Wade's neck.

"That good?" he asks breathlessly.

Two taps on his thigh; that's a yes.

Fucking finally. It's taken them way more attempts than Matt and his hundred thousand dollars of student debt would like to admit, but it seems like at long last they've found the way to do this.

Matt has his right hand holding one end of the baton tightly. The cord that attaches it to the other half has been wrapped tightly and quite a few times around Wade's neck after stretching across the room from where the other end of the baton is duct taped excessively to the door. Normally there'd be some degree of worry about killing someone with kinkieness of this caliber. Thankfully, that's pretty much a non-issue when it comes to Wade.

They've got the signals all worked out. One tap for no, two taps for yes, one tap on the wrist holding the baton for tighter, and any number of taps on the throat for stop right fucking now. It's a good system because Wade can't exactly speak with his trachea being crushed, and Matt doesn't have to exhaust himself trying to pay attention to whether or not Wade's making any sort of hand signal.

Instead of giving any of their well discussed and clearly defined signals though, Wade's hands are more than a little bit busy holding onto Matt's hips tight enough to leave bruises in the shape of fingertips, conveying a message that Matt still knows the meaning of: "you said you'd choke me out while you rode me, and I'm already choking."

Fair enough.

Within a few more minutes, his waist and his thighs have gotten matching sets of fingerprint bruises. Even though Wade's being quiet (for once in his damn life), Matt's being anything but. You'd think that and the obnoxious squeaking of the mattress would serve as warning enough to stay out, but no, of course that's not enough.

"Holy shit, Matt you won't belie–" an incredibly familiar voice starts just before not just slamming the sliding door open but ripping it off the track and sending it halfway across the room as well. Damn that adolescent superhuman strength.

_ Crack _ .

_ Spatter _ .

Wade's hands drop from Matt's sides.

Matt can hear Peter stuttering out an incoherent apology over his pounding heart, rushing adrenaline, shaking body, but what's more important than any of that is what Matt  _ can't _ hear.

Horrifically, there are three people in the room, two heartbeats.

Not to mention the incredibly unpleasant feeling of blood dripping down his face and soaking into the sheets around him. And the smell that comes with it.

Matt quickly unwinds the cord from around Wade's neck and drops the baton, heedless of the way it zips across the room to reattach to its other half. He sort of regrets it when he hears the various bits of flesh stuck to the cord being flung everywhere.

Wade's head flops against the headboard with a dull thud, another gush of blood, and zero complaining.

He’s speechless.

No way. No way did that just happen. No way in hell did Peter just—

"Did I... Did I just kill him?" Peter says in a horrified whisper.

Matt’s too stunned to even try and form a sentence because holy fuck this is  _ not _ happening.

Two seconds later Wade jolts up abruptly, gasping in his first breath since the cord was wrapped around his neck in the first place.

"Did Peter just kill me?" he asks, his shock and awe at this apparent.

Matt doesn't answer him either; he's too busy just fucking dying of mortification. Peter knowing that he and Wade sleep together in the abstract is one thing. It’s not even a good thing, but it’s manageable. But this? There is absolutely  _ no _ coming back from this. The poor kid’s probably going to be traumatized and it’s going to be entirely Matt’s fault for never locking his door.

"I am /so/ sorry oh my God– this never happened– I'm leaving!" Peter announces shrilly, turning and practically sprinting back out of the room and up the stairs to the roof access.

"No need," Wade calls after him. "F--"

That's enough to snap Matt out of his horrified silence as he shoves both his hands down on Wade's mouth to stop him from traumatizing Peter any further. It’s muffled, but he can still make out the rest of the sentence.

“-- _ inished up when you killed me _ .”

"What the  _ fuck _ Wade?!" Matt snaps, because Jesus Christ-- does he even need to say the justification?

"It wasn't a lie," comes the muffled reply from beneath Matt's hands.

The only response Matt can even think to give is, "I'm not partially decapitating you in bed."

"Didn't ask you to. But on the bright side-- now you know the wire’s sharp enough to cut a head off!”

“I  _ hate  _ you,” Matt snarls even as Wade grabs him by the hips again. 

“No you don’t. And also, question,” Wade says, sounding completely earnest in a way Matt has learned not to trust.

“What?” Matt asks anyway, because Wade  _ did _ just get killed. He has some degree of sympathy, even if he’s still beyond humiliated.

“Was that technically necrophilia on your part?”

Oh that fucking  _ does it _ .

* * *

**+1**

How the fuck does the kid always manage to be underfoot at the most inopportune moments, for example, when they’re literally fucking, but when they could really use a spider-themed super teenager, he’s suddenly Edward fucking Snowden. Forget off the grid, this kid must’ve burnt the fucking grid. Then mixed the ashes into shitty coke and sold it to frat boys who don’t give a flying fuck what they put up their nose.

Not answering calls, not responding to texts-- from Wade  _ or _ Matt-- his snap score isn’t increasing-- and hey! That’s a way to track him down! How could he have forgotten about the damn Snap Maps when he was the one who warned the kid just about how likely it was to get him killed. Just a few clicks, and bam, there’s the kid’s exact location.

“Did you find him?” Matt asks, panting pretty heavily and wiping some blood away from the corner of his mouth.

“Yep-- his place. Think we can lose these fuckers before we get there?” Wade asks, because fuck if they’re tracking this shit to Peter’s front door. The kid’s gonna be pissed enough that they decided to stir shit in his borough instead of their own.

Matt spins around and flings his baton at a guy, knocking him clean out with one hit. “I think we can manage.”

“That was hot.”

Matt snorts, and Wade has to look away to kick a guy in the head and then pistol whip him.

“Shall we?” Wade asks with a bow and a flourish.

“Lead the way,” Matt says with a matching flourish.

This time, Wade isn’t the only one left completely out of breath and boneless from leaping across rooftops. They collapse on Peter’s rooftop within seconds of each other, and Wade’s not blind to the way Matt’s shaking just a bit. Granted, he’s still a bit worse for wear than Matt is, but they both take their sweet time walking over to the fire escape and climbing down it to Peter’s window.

Matt gets there first, because of course Wade elected to walk behind him (for the view), and he hesitates for just a second.

“What?” Wade asks. “It locked or something.”

“No-- nothing,” Matt says immediately, yanking the window up and climbing in.

Wade follows behind him, calling out a loud, “Oh, Peter~” as he flings the bedroom door open only to be met by  _ oh hello there. _

There, in the light of the very obviously forgotten TV, the kid is sitting on the couch sucking face with his friend. The girl. The girlfriend, maybe? And isn’t that just precious-- baby boy has a girlfriend. He’s so grown up! Before these thoughts can even finish running their course through Wade’s mind, the kid is yanking away from what’s-her-face and staring at the other two thirds of his usual crew in mute horror. Serves him right after that one time.

Before Wade even gets the chance to mildly harass sweet baby Peter and ask  _ him _ what it’s like to suffer the consequences of not locking his window, Matt is grabbing him and yanking him back toward the kid’s bedroom

“Terrorists. Here. Now. Suit up. See you on the roof in two,” he calls back over his shoulder as he continues to drag Wade.

“Hey!” Wade protests as Matt shoves him back out onto the fire escape. “I was working on a really good joke!”

“Humiliate him later. We’ve got bigger problems right now.”

“Only bigger problem is how much of a fuckin’ killjoy you are,” Wade mutters as he starts climbing back to the roof, glancing down to check that Matt is following. 

Matt must not feel like he needs to dignify that with a response, either that or he knows that it’s true, so they make their way back up to the roof in the relative silence of Wade whistling obnoxiously.

Matt sits down on the edge of the roof, and ugh, he’s getting all emo again. Well, Wade knows better than to let the emo feelings grow. Best to rip them up by the roots right now.

“What is it?” he asks, sitting beside Matt.

“He has someone else to lose now,” Matt replies somberly.

Wade smacks Matt on his stupid helmet because it was a stupid thing to say. Wade was thinking it too, but now’s not the time to get all angsty about it, besides, “No he fucking doesn’t. We mighta fucked up on that front, yeah? But that ain’t happening to him. We won’t let it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave comments and kudos, and maybe even subscribe to the series!  
> My tumblr is dumbbitchnumberone & you should check me out there for all sorts of fun content!


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